


The Rosy Cliché

by taetaetiger (sexyvanillatiger)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Courtroom Drama, Family Drama, M/M, Married Life, Murder, Psychological Drama, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 13:42:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6118192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexyvanillatiger/pseuds/taetaetiger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yixing trusts Yifan. Most people wouldn't, but he does. Yifan is the man who rocks their son to sleep, wakes up early to make them breakfast, and loves them both enough for an eternity. But Yifan is also the man who is strangling people to death each night—the one the police want to catch—but Yixing and their son love him anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rosy Cliché

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings in the tags.

Yifan gets home from work early, while dinner is still in the oven. Shixun is in his bedroom playing loudly with his toys, and Yixing is sitting at the kitchen table, reading a book. He glances up when Yifan walks in, surprised to see him at first. Yifan just smiles and dips to kiss his husband in greeting, cupping the back of his neck to hold him closer for a few kisses more after that.

“Someone’s in a good mood tonight,” Yixing laughs, carding his fingers through Yifan’s hair. Yifan hums and presses into him.

“Mmm, these long days remind me of how much I love you,” Yifan rumbles, his voice deep and slow. Yixing’s lips part just from hearing it, leaning forward and accepting Yifan’s kisses all over again, tongues meeting over teeth. Yifan slowly pulls Yixing out of his chair, Yixing rising to wrap his arms around Yifan’s neck as they press further into each other. They only part to the cacophony of tiny footsteps thundering down the stairs. Reluctantly, Yifan unwinds from around his husband and turns to scoop their son up into the air, so high that Yixing reflexively raises his arms as if to catch Shixun, should he fall.

“Daddy!” Shixun cries in delight, arms up and legs kicked out wide as Yifan swings him all the way over his head, and then back down into a hug. He’s laughing, his smile beautiful; Yixing watches on in wonder and adoration.

“What did you do today?” Yifan asks, and Shixun excitedly begins to rattle off all of the new words he learned how to write today. When he begins to explain the game he was playing with his action figures, Yixing slips out to check on their dinner, pulling it out of the oven as Shixun and Yifan amble in to begin setting the table.

Yifan sends Shixun along the with silverware, coming up behind Yixing once he’s gone. He places a hand at Yixing’s hip, nosing at the ticklish skin of his neck. Yixing shies away, a distressed sound in his throat; Yifan just laughs at him. They pause, just standing together like this for a moment before Yifan says, “I’m going out tonight.”

“Again?” Yixing’s hands squeeze into nervous fists. “You just went out last week. Isn’t it a little bit too soon?”

“Yixing.” Yifan’s voice is solid, and Yixing yields to it, relaxing into his husband. Yifan holds him tightly. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course,” Yixing tells him without hesitation.

“Then don’t worry. Everything will be okay.”

Yixing hums his assent. He places a hand over Yifan’s on his waist, squeezing gently, and after a moment, he turns his head to look up at his husband. “You’re staying for dinner though, right? Shixun hasn’t gotten to see very much of you this week.”

Yifan leans in to kiss him again, slowly and lovingly. “Of course I’m staying for dinner. You think I would pass up on your cooking? Besides,” he says as he leans forward to steal a pepper from the still-hot pan; Yixing slaps his hand away, and Yifan retreats dutifully. “I’m not going out very far tonight. Just a few blocks.”

Yixing purses his lips in thought. It won’t necessarily bring them any trouble; Yifan has been out on the other end of the city the past few times he’s been out. This should only serve to shake up the trail the police have been sniffing. Still, he says, “Don’t bring anything home,” as a reminder to his husband who has been known to get lost in the thrill. Yifan turns him around and pins him against the stove, calm as a lion amongst his pride when he says,

“Baobei, stop worrying so much. I’ll always take care of you and Shixun before anything else.”

That night, Yixing doesn’t stay up for him. Yifan helps to clear the table and start dishes, but he has to leave before it gets too late. Yixing finishes cleaning the kitchen and then fetches Shixun for his bath. He gets fifteen more minutes of toys after that, and then bed. Yifan is the storyteller, so Shixun doesn’t get a tale of epic and romantic conquest. Instead, Yixing reads him a few pages from _The Runaway Bunny_ , stopping when he’s certain his son is asleep before stealing away to take a hot shower of his own.

Clean and warm, Yixing tucks himself into bed and reads two chapters in his own book. By then, the draw of sleep is too strong to ignore. In his younger days, back when he and Yifan had an apartment together and no son and no cars and no idea what the future would hold, Yixing would stay up. Much as it pained him, he would wait for Yifan to come home every time he went out.

Now, Yixing reaches over and flicks the lamp off. The room darkens and Yixing burrows deep against his pillow, sprawled out across the empty bed. There was a time in his life when he couldn’t sleep unless Yifan was back, safe. Now, Yixing closes his eyes and sleeps effortlessly. He doesn’t wake until Yifan is sliding into bed alongside him, fingers skating across his bare chest. Yixing moans awake and stretches, turning his head to accept a kiss.

“Hey, baby,” he mumbles, turning onto his side to face Yifan. Yifan has already showered, changed clothes, and probably eaten. All before coming home. He will never bring evidence into this house. Yixing curls his fingers around his husband’s smooth jaw. “Easy night?”

“I’ve had easier,” Yifan replies with a hint of a smirk. Yixing smiles back; his husband has always loved a challenge. Yifan settles beside Yixing, and Yixing slides closer until his head is cushioned against his husband’s chest. He can hear Yifan’s heartbeat, he can even feel it against his temple. He was sleeping so soundly only moments ago, but he’s so wide awake now. His head turns with thoughts that only grow in the dark; Yifan’s hand smoothing up and down his back tells him that Yifan is still awake, as well.

“Would it ever have been me?” Yixing asks. Yifan doesn’t answer immediately, so Yixing cranes his neck to look up at him; Yifan is already looking down at him, frowning. His arm snakes around Yixing’s waist, forcing him closer, caging Yixing to his husband’s side.

“Never,” Yifan finally says, with such resolve that a shiver works its way down Yixing’s spine. He bends one leg up, curling it around Yifan’s, tangling them together.

“What did you think when you first saw me?” Yixing has asked this question before. Many times, especially after he first found out. Yifan has always given him the same answer. He takes Yixing’s thigh in his hand, thumb working harshly at the meat, and he slowly, solidly rolls them over.

“ _Mine_ ,” he says, his voice low and rough and making Yixing tingle in his favorite places. He moans, tilting his head back, inviting Yifan to lean in and kiss him along the column of his sensitive throat. “Saw you on that street corner,” he grunts, teeth catching against Yixing’s skin. “You looked so lost. I knew you needed me. To protect you.”

“Protect me?” Yixing asks, grinding up against Yifan.

Yifan’s hands tighten where they hold Yixing down. “I will _always_ protect you. I will always make sure you and Shixun are safe and happy.”

“We’re only happy when you’re here with us.” Yixing turns his head to look down at Yifan, and Yifan lifts a little to meet his gaze. His mouth is flat, eyes narrowed, and Yixing reaches up to trace the tense lines of his face. Yifan lowers in slowly, their mouths working at each other with a passion burning like embers; slow, but bright.

“Then I will never get caught,” Yifan says when they part, his forehead rested against Yixing’s. Yixing smiles, tilting his head just enough to catch Yifan’s lips in another kiss, and they start again, slowly sliding and grinding together. Yixing opens his legs for his husband to settle between, reaching down to palm him through his jeans.

“Get undressed,” Yixing murmurs into the darkness. Yifan, still high off of his successful hunt, readily obeys. Yixing accepts him naked into his arms, having kicked away his own boxers, and heat sparks between them wherever they connect. Yixing moans into Yifan’s kisses, holding him close by the back of his neck. Yifan dips his fingers into the curves of Yixing’s spine, down to the fullness of his ass, and Yixing arches into him.

“Get the lube,” Yifan commands, and Yixing rolls over to obey. He stretches across the mattress to pull it out of his bedside table, passing it back to Yifan and getting his knees under him just enough to tilt his ass up towards Yifan. Yifan bites into it, pressing hot kisses until he comes to Yixing’s entrance, where his tongue dips in resolutely. Yixing bites his lips to stay quiet and buries his face into his pillow.

Yifan reaches around with one hand to stroke Yixing’s cock, slowly, tightly, his tongue deep inside of Yixing, and with his free hand he pops open the top to the lube. The plastic crack of it echoes through their bedroom, and hopefully not out into the hall. Yifan leans away from Yixing, the heat of his mouth replaced by a cold dollop of lube. Yixing gasps and squirms, but Yifan’s fingers are there, pushing it inside of him to where he is hot, burning, pressing back into Yifan’s hand to take his fingers deeper. Yifan strokes his lower back calmly, curling and twisting his fingers in the way Yixing loves.

When Yifan finally enters him, Yixing sobs his relief. He muffles it in his pillow, but Yifan pulls his head up by the hair so that his loud breaths ring even louder in their silent room. “ _Yifan_ ,” he whispers desperately, trying to pull his pillow up with him, but Yifan settles balls-deep inside of him and growls in his ear,

“You can be quiet, can’t you?”

There’s a frisky edge to his voice, a tease, a challenge. Yifan is always that much more spirited and playful the night after he’s gone out. He sucks hot kisses into Yixing’s neck, and it takes everything in Yixing not to cry out desperately for Yifan to fuck him. His husband remains still, hips pressed deeply into the flesh of Yixing’s ass. They’ve been together long enough and frequently enough that Yixing doesn’t need nearly this much time to accommodate his husband’s impressive girth; Yifan knows this. Yixing waits for anything Yifan will give him, almost crying out in relief when Yifan asks him,

“What do you want?”

He swivels his hips back against Yifan’s cock, but Yifan takes his waist in a vice grip and holds him still. “Take care of me,” he begs, “please, oh Yifan, please, take care of me tonight.”

Yifan groans low in his throat, finally working his cock out and driving back in. The bed creaks with it, the headboard just shy of banging the wall, and Yixing pushes back to take everything that is given to him. He can feel the drag of Yifan’s cock inside of him in every limb, every breath, every moan that echoes from his husband’s chest and into his back where they are pressed together. Yifan fucks him so fiercely that he is prone before long, cock rubbing against their Egyptian cotton sheets. He can feel the sticky ooze of precome smearing against his belly, and he reaches back to still his husband’s hips.

“Yifan, _Yifan_ ,” he moans desperately. “Turn me over, turn me over, don’t—Yifan, the sheets—”

Yifan grunts his acknowledgement and pulls out, rolling Yixing easily onto his back and plunging back in. His cock drags against Yixing’s prostate, and Yixing writhes, arching up into him as he chokes down a shout. Yifan pulls him close in a kiss, drowning out his noises, and Yixing scrabbles for purchase on his husband’s shoulders before coming. Yifan, who is always hyper-aware of Yixing, slows down into a deep grind to draw it out. Yixing is trembling by the time it’s passed, his eyes squeezed shut against the shocks of sensitivity trembling through him.

“Yifan,” he sighs, his husband completely stilling to give him a moment just to breathe. Yixing strokes his face and runs his fingers through Yifan’s sweaty hair, kissing him once more before letting Yifan rise up onto his knees and use Yixing like he really wants to. Fast, brutal, on the cusp of painful. The head of the bed is thumping the wall now, and Yixing could almost worry about waking up their son, except he finds it very difficult to think of anything except for the bruising grip on his hips and the merciless slam of his husband’s cock inside of him.

Yixing is half-hard again by the time Yifan finally finishes, having taken long enough that Yixing feels bruised and battered when it’s over. He sighs in relief when Yifan withdraws, clenching to keep the mess inside of him. Yifan reaches for him, fingers tracing his puffy, swollen entrance, and Yixing instinctively gasps and arches away.

“ _Yifan_ ,” he hisses, but Yifan glances up with a look that silences him.

“What did you ask me to do?” he asks, crawling like a predator over Yixing’s sprawled form. Yixing rolls his eyes, but Yifan slaps his thigh lightly in reprimand, so he answers.

“Take care of me,” Yixing says, and Yifan hums and nods.

“So let me take care of you.” He lowers himself back down, and while Yixing dreams about a warm bath, what he gets is a warm mouth around the head of his cock, bringing him from less than interested to arching up into Yifan’s mouth desperately in seconds. Yixing grits his teeth because all he wants to do is curse and shout and kick Yifan, but he doesn’t. Yifan plunges two fingers back into him, pulling them out and making it three when the mess of his own ejaculate beings to seep out around his hand. He curls his fingers in the best way, and Yixing comes for a second time an almost painfully short handful of minutes later.

His skin prickles as he comes down, fully exhausted, oversensitized, and sticky all over his groin and buttocks. “Yifan, the sheets,” he grumbles, already knowing that they’ve been sullied. Yifan presses a kiss to Yixing’s stomach, licking up the cooled come there. His breath is warm when he says,

“I’ll wash them tomorrow.”

Yixing actually snorts. “Liar,” he says, letting Yifan crawl back up alongside him. “Draw me a bath.”

Yifan huffs out a small laugh of his own, pulling Yixing up and out of the wet spot. “In the morning,” he says, earning a slap on the chest from Yixing. Yifan just laughs, hugging Yixing close and kissing him on the forehead. Yixing sighs, relenting to his husband’s embrace.

“Did you at least get all that energy out of your system?” he asks through a yawn. Yifan smoothes his hair and pulls the covers up over them.

“Yes.”

“Good,” Yixing murmurs, already half asleep in his husband’s arms. He can never outlast Yifan, so he doesn’t try. He falls asleep with the steady thump of Yifan’s heartbeat very close to his ear.

 

_“The house is so quiet whenever I get home. I feel like you must get lonely when I'm gone.” Yifan presses a kiss to Yixing’s shoulder as he says this, stroking his hip beneath the hem of his t-shirt. Yixing hums and gives the contents of his skillet another good stir before setting his wooden spoon to the side._

_“Maybe. A little bit,” he admits, turning his head to for a nuzzle. “But it's not bad. And you're never gone for very long.”_

_“I try not to be,” Yifan chuckles into the skin of Yixing’s shoulder. “But I've been thinking a lot recently...we need some life in this house…”_

_Yixing snorts, taking up his spoon again. “Wu Yifan, I am not getting a cat just to have you turn around and kill it.”_

_Yifan huffs, a short, hot laugh against Yixing’s neck, and he cringes away from it. “Zhang Yixing, you know it has been a very long time since I killed a cat.” Yixing giggles a little despite himself, and that just makes Yifan laugh harder. Yixing eventually sets his spoon aside and turns around to look at his husband’s beautiful, gummy smile. Yifan stares down at him, warm and loving and brimming with unrestrained adoration. Yixing can feel himself flushing; he hides his cheeks with his hands._

_“What?” he whines, trying hard to keep his own smile contained._

_“Let's have a baby,” Yifan says, still smiling like he's just been given the world. Yixing's hands drop away, and he stares up at Yifan in wonder._

_“Really?” he asks tentatively, worried that he sounds too hopeful. It doesn't matter; Yifan is practically bouncing up and down with excitement._

_“Yes, Yixing, please, let's start a family.”_

_Yixing’s hands are shaking when he reaches up to card his fingers through Yifan's hair. He sniffles, his nose and eyes beginning to run. “Oh, yes, God, yes, Yifan,” he moans, going weak at the knees. Yifan catches him, rocking him from side to side._

_“Are you still sleeping?” Yifan asks._

“Huh?”

“I said, are you still sleeping?” 

Yixing twists around to see Yifan watching him from the hallway, peering in through the door with a fond look on his face. Yixing sits up slowly, helplessly tangled in the sheets, and Yifan crosses the room to help him. When they’ve freed him, Yixing pulls Yifan close for a kiss, letting him slip his tongue in even though Yixing hasn't brushed his teeth yet. 

“I had a dream,” he says when they part. Yifan sits down beside him on the bed. 

“About what?”

“About the night we decided we wanted to start a family.” Yixing's face screws up to the side, and he cocks his head. “I can't remember, though—you said something after I said yes, and I can't remember what it was.”

Yifan smiles and ruffles Yixing’s hair. “After? I think I told you that you burnt the food.”

Yixing flushes and squawks indignantly, but Yifan stands then and starts pulling him out of bed. “Come on, Shixun is almost done with breakfast and you haven't even started.”

 

Yixing is cleaning Shixun’s room when the doorbell rings. Shixun bounds through the halls, Yixing can hear the thumping of his little feet, and he calls out for Shixun to wait for him. He stows the toys he’s holding into the toy box and then dusts his hands off on his jeans, ambling out towards the stairs to follow his son. He scoops him up on his way, Shixun dutifully holding his arms up to cling to Yixing, and they both approach the front door together. Yixing peers through the peephole.

His breath catches in his throat, and he sets Shixun down, shooing him away. “Go to your room,” he says. “Close your door and stay there until I tell you you can come out, do you understand me?” Shixun starts to whine, but Yixing pushes him more forcefully. “Shixun, I will call your father if you do not listen to me _this instant_.” Shixun scowls but he goes. As he’s walking away, the doorbell rings again. Yixing doesn’t answer until he can hear his son slam his bedroom door, and he puts on the innocent smile that won Yifan’s heart so many years ago before opening the front door.

“Good afternoon, officers. Is there something I can do for you?” he asks, leaning against the jamb.

The two officers on his doorstep look young, maybe only a few years older than himself. No gristly mustaches, no portly bellies, no weathered lines around the eyes. They stand upright, two handsome young men, coming to turn Yixing’s life upside-down.

“Is this the residence of Wu Yifan?”

Yixing nods, barely breathing. “Yes, he’s my husband.”

“Ah, yes. Good. We just have a couple of questions for you, then,” says the officer on the right, with soft brown hair. _Officer Kim_ , Yixing reads on his name badge.

“Do you mind if we come inside?” asks the other, _Officer Do_.

Yixing hesitates, glancing between the two. His heart is thundering in his throat, but they don’t seem to sense anything amiss. He swings the door back and forth a little bit, obviously apprehensive about letting them in; he wasn’t made for this. This is supposed to be Yifan’s business, not his. “Is there something wrong?” he asks finally, face creased with concern.

The officers glance at one another simultaneously, so in sync that Yixing speculates they’ve been working together for some time. They look back to him at the same time, and Officer Do says, “No. We just have a few questions, that’s all.”

They stand there, their presence insistent, and Yixing glances back over his shoulder to make sure Shixun is nowhere in sight. Hesitantly, he pulls the door open for the officers. “I’m sorry, it’s a little messy. You caught me in the middle of cleaning.” The officers glance around the entrance hall; off towards the living room on the left, down into the kitchen on the right. The house is spotless. Yixing puts on a smile to set them at ease.

“You have a very lovely home,” Officer Kim says.

“Thank you, Officer Kim,” Yixing replies as he leads the way into the dining room.

“Please, call me Junmyeon,” Officer Kim says, taking a seat. Yixing flashes him a charming smile, one which warms Junmyeon and has no visible effect on Officer Do.

“Of course, Junmyeon. Can I get you two anything to drink? I can put on some coffee.”

“That won’t be necessary. This shouldn’t take very long. Have a seat, please.”

Obediently, Yixing takes a seat at the table across from Junmyeon and adjacent to Officer Do. He folds his hands on the tabletop, leaning forward in a way that he hopes comes across as compliant and calm. Junmyeon clears his throat and gestures towards Officer Do, who also leans forward before he speaks. His voice is very deep, and his face has little expression. Yixing watches him sharply, fearing him the most.

“We have a few questions for you about your husband.” Yixing nods, and Officer Do continues. “Can you tell us where he was last Wednesday, the night of the sixteenth?”

“Wednesday?” Yixing repeats. Yifan was out that night. Yixing’s blood boils, anger rising like bile in his throat; Yifan must have slipped up somewhere. “He was here, with me. He got home from work early that night, and he came home just before I finished dinner. He was here.” The officers glance at one another, and Yixing leans forward even further. “Is something going on? Why are you asking me about Yifan?”

“We...have reason to believe he was not where you say he was,” Junmyeon says slowly and inoffensively, giving Yixing an entreating look that begs him to cooperate. Yixing stares back, silent and devoid of emotion.

“What reason?” he asks, though it comes across as more of a demand. Yixing curses himself in his head; this isn’t his role, it’s Yifan’s.

“There have been some anonymous tips about his... _strange_ schedule—”

“Tips?” Yixing cuts in. Officer Do curls his hands into fists. Yixing takes a deep breath. “Officers, would you please tell me what this is about? _Why are you asking me about Yifan?_ ”

Junmyeon opens his mouth, but doesn’t say anything. He glances towards Officer Do, who Yixing suspects is the undertaker of the majority of their dirty work. Good cop, bad cop. Yixing stares Officer Do down, daring him to say what Yixing expects him to say. “I’m sure you’ve heard about the series of murders that have been occurring over the past few months…,” Officer Do starts slowly. Yixing wants to laugh. He wants to tell the police, you haven’t even found half of the victims. The past few months? he wants to ask them, Try the past few _years_. Instead, he says nothing. Yixing flushes in the face and tries to speak levelly, much as he fails.

“So this is about your murder case. You want to interrogate me about my husband for your murder case, based off of _tips_?” He lets that sink in, lets them glance amongst themselves, sensing that it’s a nervous gesture. _Good_. He wants them to be nervous. “Do you know how many people would throw him under the bus, given the chance? There are a dozen people at his work who would die for his position, and you think they aren’t below slandering him like this?”

Officer Do puts his hand on the table, slow and steady, and in his deep voice, he says, “Mr. Wu—”

“It’s Zhang,” Yixing snaps, rounding on him angrily. He’s pleased to see Officer Do recoil. “And I will _not_ have you come into _my_ house and cast aspersions on _my_ family without something more than _anonymous tips_. I still have not forgotten the break-in my family suffered two years ago, nor how _your_ department _still_ hasn’t found a single goddamn thing about who did it. So you can take your anonymous tips—”

“Mr. Zhang, please, calm down,” Junmyeon jumps in, standing slightly out of his seat. Yixing rises completely from his, the chair legs screeching against the floor as he does. Junmyeon and Officer Do watch him silently for a moment before Yixing composes himself enough to speak.

“Get out of my house,” he says, calmly, levelly, a storm brewing beneath his hardened expression. The officers glance at one another again, and Yixing knows that he didn’t do well, he didn’t contain the situation, but he doesn’t know how. This is Yifan’s job.

And Yifan didn’t do his job. Yixing locks the door behind the officers as they leave, and he goes immediately to fetch Shixun, who is staring down at his toy box when Yixing enters his room. “Are you in trouble?” he asks when Yixing sits on the floor beside him.

“No, nobody’s in trouble,” Yixing says, collecting Shixun into his arms. Shixun struggles at first, a boy his age prizing independence over all else, but Yixing needs the hug, and he thinks Shixun senses his distress after a moment.

“Nobody?” he asks, wrapping his arms around Yixing’s neck.

“Maybe your father,” Yixing says in a way he hopes comes across as teasing. He takes a deep breath and sets Shixun up on his feet. “Okay, let’s get this room clean. Together. I want every toy put away before Daddy gets home.”

 

Yixing waits up that night. Yifan isn’t going out, so Yixing doesn’t have to wait long, but it feels like an eternity sitting at their kitchen table, imagining how it might feel to have to give it up—the table, the dining room, the house, their _life_ —all because of his husband’s sloppy work. Yixing’s hands tighten into fists, and he scowls down at the stained wood.

It had been his only condition. When he found out, Yifan had given him a look that dared him to leave. Instead, Yixing dared to stay; and only on one condition. That Yifan never get caught. Yixing doesn’t realize he’s crying until a tear lands on the table between his clenched fists, and he sniffles. Yifan walks in before he can wipe his face clean, humming and shaking his jacket out, and he knows something is wrong before Yixing can even say anything.

He heads straight for Yixing, who stands abruptly from his chair and greets his husband with a hard slap to the face. Yifan stands stock-still, head turn to the side, the imprint of Yixing’s hand reddening across his cheek. Yixing tries to stay calm, but the choked remnants of a sob claw from deep within his throat, and after that, he’s nothing but a scared, trembling boy. Yifan slowly and deliberately tries to collect Yixing into his arms.

For the first time in their marriage, for the first time since Yixing _met_ Yifan, Yixing fights not to be there. He lets out another sob, one of frustration, and louder than he means to, he says, “How could you be so _stupid_?”

“Yixing, calm down,” Yifan says, his voice low. His eyes are on Yixing but Yixing knows that his ears are listening for Shixun, sleeping just upstairs. Yixing wants to care, but he just can’t. There are so many more important things at stake than waking up their son.

“ _Calm down_?” he demands, his voice shrill and tense. “Do you even know who came by the house today?”

Yifan’s eyes narrow and suddenly Yixing has his full attention. Yifan raises to his full height, unfurling in ways that Yixing didn’t even realize he was folded. He stands completely still, his face straight, and Yixing continues to tremble and cry. “Who came by the house today?” he asks, his voice level. Yixing tries to speak, but he can’t. He’s breathing too hard, and it takes too much effort to keep his lungs working at a regular pace. Yifan takes Yixing by his shoulders, his grip just this side of too hard. It’s a demanding hold, and Yixing calms in it. “Yixing, _who came by the house today_?”

“The police,” Yixing squeaks out before dissolving into a fit of sobs once more. Yifan releases him, and he collapses back into his chair. When he can breathe again, he glares up at Yifan, having to crane his neck all the way back. “They w-wanted to know where you were the oth-ther night. When you w-went out.”

Yifan doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t even nod in acknowledgment. He pulls out a chair and sits down at the kitchen table with Yixing. He reaches his hand across it, palm-up, and reluctantly, spitefully, Yixing takes it. Yifan squeezes, stroking his thumb across Yixing’s knuckles, and he asks him, “What have I told you?”

Yixing closes his eyes and massages his temple. He doesn’t answer. Yifan squeezes him harder, and Yixing winces. He looks at his husband, who almost looks angry. Yixing tries to pull his hand away, but Yifan pulls him forward. “What do I _always_ tell you?”

This time, Yixing shrugs. He drops his eyes. He’s tired. Yifan guides him out of his seat, into Yifan’s lap. He goes without a fight this time. “I will _always_ protect you.”

Yixing just shakes his head. “This time, it’s not me I’m worried about.”

“Look at me. _Yixing_.” Slowly, Yixing lifts his head, and Yifan stares down at him intently. “Do you really think I will ever leave you here alone? That I will ever not be here for you or Shixun? Tell me honestly.”

Yixing’s face crumbles, his eyes watering once more, because all he feels is doubt. “I don’t know what I’ll do if they take you away from us.”

“Don’t,” Yifan growls. He wraps his arms around Yixing and holds him close. Yixing hooks onto his shirt and sniffles. Yifan runs his hand up and down the line of Yixing’s spine. “Don’t even think about that. I will never let anything take me away from you.”

Yixing nods, his breathing quieting until it is only interrupted by the occasional pitiful hiccup. Upstairs, Shixun is crying, and Yixing hears it before Yifan does. He stands up, still shaky on his legs, but before he turns to the stairs to go comfort their son, he levels Yifan with a look that actually strikes concern into his husband’s calm veneer.

“You had better take care of this.”

Yifan’s eyes narrow and his expression hardens, and he stands so that he’s looking down at Yixing instead of up. He cups Yixing’s face in his large hand, smoothing his thumb back and forth over Yixing’s red, swollen cheek. “I will,” he says. Yixing watches him for a few moments longer, just waiting to see if Yifan will crack, but he doesn’t. Yixing relents first, dropping his eyes and shying away from Yifan’s touch. He leaves his husband behind, instead taking to the stairs and slipping into Shixun’s bedroom.

When he takes a seat at the edge of Shixun’s bed, his son sits up and crawls forward until he can hug Yixing around the middle. Yixing shushes him gently, rubbing his back and rocking him from side to side. When he thinks Shixun can speak, he asks, “What’s wrong, baby boy?”

Shixun sniffles and asks him, “Why are you and daddy fighting?”

Yixing brushes his fingers through Shixun’s hair and continues to rock him, lost for words. “Sometimes…,” he starts weakly, and then sighs. He hugs Shixun tightly, starting over. “Sometimes daddies just fight. Nobody agrees on everything, not even me and daddy. But you know that we love each other, and you know that we both love you no matter what, right?”

Shixun hesitates, but he does nod his head after a moment. Yixing hums happily and kisses his forehead, lowering him back into bed. “Are you feeling better now? Everything’s okay, you can go back to sleep.” Shixun moans and grumbles, but eventually he mumbles out a weak, okay, and Yixing smiles. “I love you,” he says.

“I love you, too, baba,” Shixun yawns automatically in response. Yixing squeezes his leg and wishes him a good night before rising and heading immediately for his own bedroom. He strips and slides into bed without washing his face or brushing his teeth, just burrowing into his pillow desperately. Doubt and worry still curl viciously in his stomach, clawing at him from the inside; Yifan doesn’t come to bed that night.

In the morning, Yixing lets Shixun sleep in and descends the stairs to make breakfast. He clutches his robe tighter around himself, rubbing at his swollen, tender eyes, and he almost misses the sight of Yifan’s keys in the bowl. He backtracks, looking down at them, questioning whether or not his bed was truly empty this morning. Yixing slips out of the kitchen, into the hall and across to the living room. There, he finds Yifan asleep on the couch, one arm tucked into his chest where Yixing would normally be sleeping, and one sprawled above him. Yixing bites his lip, his heart rushing at the sight. Yifan is still wearing last night’s clothes.

Yixing crouches down beside his husband, shaking him slightly to wake him.Yifan groans, turning his head away. Every muscle tenses in a slight stretch before relaxing, Yifan exhaling deeply from his nose as he reclines. His chest falls with it, sinking beneath Yixing’s hand, and he continues to kneel there and watch Yifan wake slowly. Yifan’s head finally turns towards him, eyes fluttering open, and Yixing’s smile is strained but it’s there when Yifan looks for it. Yifan blinks at him, hesitant when he reaches forward to pull Yixing close.

“Have you brushed your teeth yet?” Yifan asks when their mouths are only centimeters apart.

“No,” Yixing says.

“Can I kiss you?” Yifan asks.

“Yes,” Yixing says.

Yifan pulls him close, Yixing bending over the cushion of their couch to lean over Yifan and kiss him completely. It’s a rotten kiss, sour in both taste and smell, but this was the first night since their wedding that they slept in different rooms under the same roof. When Yifan pulls Yixing closer, urging him to climb on top, Yixing goes eagerly, the desire to be closer to his husband encompassing him, as well.

They kiss until they can stand it no longer, and then Yixing shimmies down Yifan’s body to rest his head against Yifan’s chest. Yifan wraps his arms around Yixing’s middle, holding him there, and Yixing drifts a bit, tired from his restless, lonely night. They lay in silence, watching the morning light fade from gray to gold to yellow, and when Yixing is on the cusp of falling asleep again, Shixun sleepily pads into the living room to find his parents curled up on the couch. He ambles forward to them. Yixing smiles at him lazily from atop Yifan’s chest, and when Shixun is close enough, Yifan swipes him up, slotting him in against their sides. Yixing wraps an arm around their son as well, bracketing him close. Shixun squeals and squirms, but he settles when Yifan leans over to kiss him on the top of his head.

“I’m hungry,” Shixun says after a long, peaceful moment, and Yixing laughs. He sits up, back onto Yifan’s lap, and Yifan looks up at him with hungry eyes. Yixing laughs some more and takes Shixun under his arms, pulling him up and placing him on Yifan’s chest to dispel any early-morning desires.

“Watch Shixun while I go start breakfast, please,” he says, smiling broadly. Yifan smiles back at him, leaning up to kiss him over Shixun’s head. Shixun hacks and groans, announcing his disgust grandly, and Yixing’s chest tightens. He still has his family; he needs to trust Yifan. He pulls his robe tight around himself and stands, and it takes everything in his power not to look back over his shoulder as he heads for the kitchen because he knows from experience how tempted he will be to just stand and watching Yifan with Shixun should he stop to glance at them now. He isn’t sure what he would do with himself if he didn’t have his family.

 

Yixing wakes with a sharp breath and a jolt, eyes flying open in alarm. He stares up at the ceiling while his thoughts settle, his eyes fluttering shut wearily once he realizes he’s awake. It was a dream, it was only a dream. He groans as he sits up, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. Nearby, Yifan snores a little. Yixing wants to smile and smooth his messy hair, but haunted by his nightmare, he sits still and silent, staring on sadly.

Yifan wakes as though roused, like he can feel Yixing’s eyes on him. He turns and reaches up to stroke Yixing’s face, frowning at what he sees there. “Baobei, what’s wrong?” Yifan asks, pulling Yixing close to him. Yixing lets himself be lowered to the mattress, accepting Yifan’s loving embrace.

“I had a nightmare,” he whispers, quiet in the darkness of early morning. Yifan strokes his back and asks him,

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Yixing really, really does. He wants to talk about how he’s preyed upon by nervous visions of himself and Shixun, left cold and alone on the streets without Yifan to take care of them. Having to watch as Yifan is put to death for all of the lives he’s taken. Watching on helplessly as Yifan’s every promise is broken; his promise to protect Yixing, his promise to stay beside Yixing, his promise to never get caught. The faces of twisted policemen and the rotted faces of Yifan’s victims haunt his sleep; Yixing is certain that something bad is going to happen.

But if he says anything to Yifan, Yifan will promise him that everything will be okay, and Yixing just isn’t certain anymore. So he shrugs in his husband’s grip and folds his hands into Yifan’s sleep shirt. Yifan kisses him on the head, and as though he’s read Yixing’s mind, he says, “Please don’t worry about anything, Yixing. You’ll just work yourself up over nothing.”

“How do you know it’s nothing?” Yixing challenges him, but weakly. He never argues with Yifan because there’s no use to it. Yifan sighs like Yixing is a petulant child.

“Do you still trust me, Yixing?”

Yixing hesitates, even though he knows the answer. “Yes,” he says, hating that Yifan is always so sure, so certain. Yixing is certain, too. Yixing is certain that something bad is going to happen. It dwells on his mind, heels his every thought. Yixing wraps his arms around Yifan, terrified that like his dream, one day he will not have Yifan with him to hold.

 

Shixun is having a play date at Zitao’s house when the phone call comes. Yixing is vacuuming, so he almost misses it at first, but when he does hear it, he rushes to catch it, and just in time. He answers, a bit winded from his sprint, saying, “Hello?” shortly between breaths.

“Yixing.”

Yixing smiles, Yifan’s voice familiar to him. “Hey,” he says, curiosity growing in him. Yifan doesn’t normally call from work. “What’s going on?”

“Yixing, I want you to listen to me carefully, okay?”

Yixing’s smile falls and he stills, his fast breathing quieting. “Yifan?” he asks nervously.

“Yixing, in my office in the roll-top desk, there’s a file on the right side at the very bottom of the stack. Inside, it has the contact information for a man named Kim Jongdae. I need you to call him as soon as you can, okay, baobei?”

“Yifan, what’s going on?”

Yifan sighs, the sound crackling through the receiver. Yixing’s stomach twists into knots, his eyes beginning to sting with tears. He repeats himself, his voice weak and watery, and Yifan sounds very reluctant when he explains that he was taken into police custody earlier in the morning. How initially, they brought him in for questioning. After meeting only silence and diversions, they chose to detain him. Yixing listens with a heavy heart, his fears seeming to materialize in front of him. He chokes out a sob, covering his hand with his mouth to hide the sound. It doesn’t work, because the next thing Yifan tells him is, “It’s okay, baobei, please don’t cry.”

“You should have talked to them,” Yixing sobs. “You should have said something to them, you should have told them what they want to hear.”

“Yixing, I’m not going to talk to them until I have my lawyer. Now please, do as I asked. Go into the roll-top desk and—“

“Kim Jongdae,” Yixing chokes out.

After a pause, Yifan says, “Yes. Kim Jongdae.” He clears his throat, and Yixing can hear voices in the background. After a moment, Yifan says, “I have to go. I love you, Yixing. I love you so much. I’m going to come home to you, but I need you to do this for me first. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good. I love you. Tell Shixun I love him, too. Take care of him.”

The call ends with a click, and Yixing just stands there for a long moment. His hands shaking, he barely manages to place the phone back onto its holster before crumbling, crying out his anguish. He holds himself up against the cupboards, only just keeping himself sitting upright. When he’s cried so hard that his vision swims and he thinks he’ll be sick, Yixing forces himself to calm down. He’s had his tantrum, now it’s time to fix this. He stands, stumbles, but doesn’t fall. It’s only his fury, his desperation that keeps him going all the way up the stairs until he comes to Yifan’s office.

This is not something Yixing is supposed to be doing. He opens the desk and pushes all irrelevant files to the side, bent on only finding the one that will help him make this right. As he searches, he fumes. Yifan was supposed to protect this family. Yifan was supposed to keep him and Shixun safe. Yifan was supposed to never get caught. Yifan _promised_ to never get caught. In his vows, Yifan swore to remain by Yixing’s side for the rest of their lives, and he meant that more than any single person in that church understood. He meant that he would never let his violent yearnings ruin the life he had brought to Yixing. He, who had swept Yixing off of the streets and refused to let him go; Yixing had always stayed of his own volition, but only on the condition that Yifan would never bring him heartbreak or ruin.

He finds the file and tears it free with a frustrated shout. He collapses to his knees once more, moaning and sobbing pitifully. If the phone call were any less urgent, Yixing would put it off until he had calmed some. Instead, he makes it immediately, still hyperventilating, still weak, still close to breaking. The man who picks up the phone has a pleasant voice, deep and filled with warmth. He asks for Yifan with his first breath. Yixing pulls the phone away from his ear to frown at it, but he answers before the man on the other line can repeat himself.

“My name is Zhang Yixing. I’m married to Wu Yifan—“

“He’s in trouble, isn’t he.” The man on the other line sounds like he’s laughing, and Yixing’s misery twists into anger so strong that he almost hangs up. The laughing quiets and the man continues. “I always knew he would need to call one day. There’s only so much a man can do before someone comes for him. Has he been detained?”

“Yes,” Yixing whimpers.

“Okay. Okay, good. I’ll call over now.” There’s a shuffling of papers in the background, and Yixing’s heart lightens to hear it. “Zhang Yixing, my name is Kim Jongdae, and I’m going to make sure that your husband doesn’t see a single day of prison. I promise you that.”

 

The bond hearing goes unexpectedly well. Yixing anticipated that due to the nature of the charge, it would be an unreachable amount. Really, Yifan is still a charming, handsome man with a beautiful family and a successful job and a perfect home. He has no history of violence that anybody but Yixing is aware of, and nobody is stepping forward to suggest a higher bail.

Yixing pays it easily; Yifan’s sales position has left them with a pretty penny in savings. The hardship doesn’t come until Yifan is home, and Yixing passes him up with nary a glance. Any other day, Yifan would grab him by the waist and force him back. Now, Yifan understands Yixing’s anger well enough to let him go. Their bed is large, spanning a great length of smooth, surplus mattress space; the far side of the bed, closest to the door, has not seen company from the very day they bought it. Yifan takes to that side reluctantly, waiting for any sign from Yixing that he can return to his husband’s side. Yixing, still brimming with hurt and anger, gives him nothing.

Yifan appoints Jongdae as his lawyer as soon as the district attorney charges him with first degree murder. He maintains a stance of innocence, and Yixing supports him in it unconditionally. Still, they continue to sleep apart. Yifan dares not cross over to Yixing, for he fears the wrath he might find there. Yixing does not blame him, for there is rage in his heart that could wreck Yifan if he chose to let it. He shutters himself away, knowing that building a wall between himself and his husband is the best he can do in order to keep him from doing worse.

Shixun asks him why he and daddy are fighting, and Yixing doesn’t know what to tell him. There hasn’t been a day he hasn’t cried since Yifan was arrested; Yixing hasn’t received a single call of support from any of their friends. He feels like the world is holding its breath, watching his life on the edge of unraveling, dangling by one last strand, waiting to see if it is worth supporting him. In this speculative pause, he feels very alone.

Yifan is asked to take some time off from work, the blow to his public image faring poorly for his position as a sales representative. His smile is still seductive and his words are still charming, but the slightest believable doubt has cast aspersions on his character that render him useless in the office. He has not yet lost his job—Lu Han has always been far too fond of him to let him go just yet—but it’s another piece of Yixing’s life that is eviscerated while he looks on, helpless to change it.

And much as it pains him, he sits in on Yifan’s meetings with Jongdae. He had thought that Yifan would meet him in Jongdae’s office, but instead, Jongdae comes into their home with his briefcase and his reference books, greeting Yifan like an old friend. Yixing is all the more suspicious of him.

Jongdae doesn’t make disliking him easy, though Yixing does try. He’s a kind man who has a large laugh, a wide smile, and an unfailing optimism that everything will be okay. Jongdae spends as much time assuring Yixing that nothing bad will happen as he does creating a defense with Yifan. He tells Yixing that there’s not enough evidence to convict Yifan; the DA’s office has reached too far by slapping him with several counts of first degree murder, and that the charges are too high for a jury to consider that Yifan’s case will qualify. They don’t have DNA, and they don’t have fingerprints. They only have footage of Yifan in places where he has no reason to be, and accounts from those whom Yifan would not call friends on his strange behaviors. The prosecution has overreached, and they will fail.

Jongdae even teases them sometimes, saying that he got lucky with such an easy client. No solid evidence, a desperate prosecution, and a handsome defendant. It’s every lawyer’s dream. Yixing, however, is not so easy to pacify. He watches on in their meetings, bitter, certain that something will go wrong. He trusted Yifan before; he trusted Yifan to keep ill fate from befalling their family, and where did that get him? Now, Yixing trusts nothing. Not even this sweet, charming man who swears that he will set Yifan free.

Jongdae is not a stupid man. Yixing knows that he’s being read, but sourly, he can’t find it in him to care. Let Jongdae know that he is angry. Let Yifan know as well. They should both understand his reasons. Besides, Yixing doesn’t think confrontation will come of it until Jongdae asks to speak to Yixing, personally. Yifan allows it, and Jongdae requests the use of his office. “For privacy,” Jongdae tells him. Yifan’s eyes narrow skeptically, but Yixing refuses to look at him, so he’s not certain of what Yifan is thinking when he agrees. Yixing leads the way upstairs, letting Jongdae enter ahead of him and closing the door behind them.

“You’re still upset about all of this,” Jongdae says after a moment. Yixing stares on silently, because of course he’s upset. Jongdae puts his hands up in concession. “I understand why you would be, Yixing. I really do. But we need your help. We can’t have you walk into that courtroom looking like you’re ready to run as soon as the verdict comes back guilty.”

Yixing’s stomach heaves just to hear the words leave Jongdae’s mouth. He gives Jongdae the meanest look he can muster, pleased to see Jongdae properly cowed. “I will _never_ leave Yifan.”

“Good,” Jongdae says. “But we need the jury to _see_ that. I need you to look as in love with him as you were on the day you married him. I know you’re having problems right now, and that’s completely fair, but we’re selling a family man, Yixing. A man who loves his son and his husband so much that he couldn’t possibly be the right guy for their case. Fathers and husbands aren’t murderers, Yixing, especially not attractive ones.”

Jongdae’s voice has changed, holding something in it that Yixing can’t name. He narrows his eyes at Jongdae, who stands firm beneath his scrutiny. Yixing waits for a beat, listening for anything on the other side of the door, but he hears nothing. In the silence, he says, “You think he did it.”

Jongdae laughs then, throwing his head back and filling the room with the sound. He leans back against the desk, sitting on it and smiling at Yixing, and then he laughs again. Yixing flushes, staring at Jongdae with wide eyes. “Yixing, I’ve known Yifan since before you two even met. I _know_ he did it.” Yixing’s eyes widen, his shock too large to contain. Yifan’s secret is too big, too dangerous for more than one person to know it, especially someone who’s not Yixing. “Yah, don’t worry,” Jongdae tells him, waving off his concern. “You can trust me.”

Yixing hesitates. “Why?”

With a sigh, Jongdae says, “For the same reason he had you call me specifically.” Yixing doesn’t say anything because that’s not an answer. He watches Jongdae intently, waiting for the rest of the story to unravel. “We knew each other in college, before he met you. He met me when I was…not in a very good situation. I had someone who…they weren’t…,” Jongdae’s face screws up as though in pain. “It was a very bad situation.

“Yifan isn’t heartless,” Jongdae continues, regaining his composure. “You know this. He just chooses who to give his heart to. When he saw what my—what was happening in my situation, he decided to help me. I don’t know why, but he did. He took care of it for me, in his usual way, and I know to this day that I probably wouldn’t be alive right now if he hadn’t. 

“So,” Jongdae concludes, putting his arms out entreatingly. “He has not only my absolute confidence, but my help if he ever needs it. And he needs it right now. So I’m giving it, and I need you to work with me to make sure he goes free. I don’t care if you two fight like dogs in your home, but in that courtroom, I need you to look like the family everybody wishes they had. You’ll need to bring Shixun with you—”

“ _No_ ,” Yixing snaps. “No, that’s _not_ happening. You will _not_ bring my son into this—“

“It’s not _about_ your son, Yixing,” Jongdae snaps back at him, talking right over Yixing with a tone of voice that has him stopping dead in his tracks. “It’s about whether or not Shixun will ever get to see his father outside of a visitation room ever again. Do you think those jurors are going to give a _damn_ that Yifan has a son if they can’t see him?”

Yixing just whimpers, covering his face with his hands. Jongdae sighs, giving Yixing a moment. Yixing breathes deeply through his nose, and finally, he pulls his hands away from his face, looking up at Jongdae once more. He’s crying, but it’s not something that’s unusual to him anymore. “What else to I have to do?” he asks. “To make sure he goes free?”

Jongdae searches Yixing’s face for a moment, looking contrite. Yixing, against his will, finds that he does like Jongdae. “Just stay with him,” he says, pushing up off of the desk. “I know you two are having a hard time right now, but nothing will get better if you don’t show him that you still love and support him.” He pauses, as though considering something, and then he says, “He’s losing faith in you. He thinks you’re going to leave him.”

Yixing’s face crumples, and the few tears beading in his eyes become a steady stream. Jongdae tentatively pulls Yixing into an embrace, but Yixing enters it freely and desperately. “I won’t,” he cries, shaking his head and smearing tears and snot on Jongdae’s suit. Jongdae still doesn’t push him away. “I won’t, I won’t, I’ll never leave him—“

“ _Please_ tell him that,” Jongdae says, patting his back and rocking him soothingly. “He needs to know that, now more than ever.”

Yixing thinks about that for the rest of the evening. That night, as they settle onto their separate sides of the bed, Yixing reaches across to pull Yifan close to him. Yifan hesitates for only a moment, as though he’s uncertain of whether he’s awake or not, and then he goes suddenly, pulling Yixing into an embrace, giving him no time to reconsider.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers into the darkness, his voice rough. It’s the first time he’s apologized since any of this started, even since that first visit from the police. Yixing pulls Yifan close by his face, kissing him desperately. Yifan accepts him, his large hand cupping Yixing’s face, thumb smoothing across his cheek. He licks into Yixing’s mouth, and Yixing pulls at his clothes, trying to tear them away.

Parting is painful, even when it only lasts long enough to disrobe. Yixing retrieves the lube while Yifan pushes back the covers, and while Yifan tries to take the lube from him so that he can prepare Yixing, Yixing keeps it out of his reach. He squeezes a small amount into his hand and strokes Yifan’s cock until it’s glistening in the scant moonlight skating across their bed. Yifan watches Yixing curiously, not moving when Yixing tries to pull him close. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he says.

“You won’t,” Yixing tells him. “ _Please_ , I need this.”

“Yixing, it’s been too long—“

“Yifan, _please_ let me feel you,” Yixing interrupts. Yifan freezes, staring at Yixing in the darkness. Yixing thinks he will be denied again, but after a long moment, Yifan goes, lining himself up with Yixing’s dry, unprepared entrance, and pushing in slowly.

It burns; it burns so bad. Yixing has to bite his lip and squeeze the sheets beneath him to keep from crying out. Yifan tries to stop, but Yixing wraps his legs around him, pulling him close until he can go no further. Yifan kisses Yixing’s face sweetly, their hands working over one another until they’re clutched as close as they can get. Yifan lifts his hips to thrust, but Yixing whimpers from the stretch.

“I’m not doing this,” Yifan says resolutely. “I’m pulling out.”

“ _No_ ,” Yixing gasps when he tries, yanking his husband close again. “No, please, Yifan, please don’t, I need this, _please_.”

Yifan reaches up to cup Yixing’s face, and he seems surprised to find tears there. Yixing, however, is not surprised. He pulls Yifan’s hand close to his mouth and kisses his wet palm, looking up at him desperately. “Please,” he whines. “I want to feel you even when we’re not together. Please,” he pulls Yifan close until their lips are brushing, “please don’t take this away from me.”

Yifan, who has already taken away so much, obeys. Whenever he thrusts, Yixing winces, but only for a short while. The more Yifan moves, the more Yixing relaxes into his embrace, locking his legs around Yifan’s hips and pushing him in deeper than he could get by himself. Yixing loves it, the way Yifan kisses him like he did the night that they first went home together. The way Yifan isn’t fucking him as hard or as fast as he normally would, the way Yifan refuses to hurt him more than he already has.

“I love you,” Yifan tells him between kisses when Yixing is getting close. Yifan’s hand is tucked between their bodies, wrapped around Yixing’s cock, stroking him slowly and sweetly. “I love you so much Yixing, I never meant for any of this to—“

“Please,” Yixing cuts him off. “Don’t talk about it, not right now.” His head is thrown back, pushing into the mattress, and Yifan diligently strokes him faster, tighter, fucking in just that much deeper, and Yixing comes. He gasps through it, fingers curling tight around Yifan’s biceps. “Oh my god, oh my god, Yifan, I love you,” he says as he’s coming down, accepting Yifan who leans in to press kisses to his throat.

Even now, when Yixing has spent himself and Yifan only has his own pleasure to seek, he still handles Yixing gently. He grinds in, pushing until there’s not a centimeter of him that isn’t inside of Yixing, and he comes, teeth digging into the meat of Yixing’s shoulder. When he’s finished, he doesn’t pull out. Yixing, for his part, wouldn’t have let him. He softens inside of his husband, and Yixing falls asleep with his hips aching because of Yifan’s weight between them. It’s a pain he will suffer for the rest of his life if it means he will always have Yifan by his side.

 

Yifan is a calm man. Yixing has been with Yifan for almost thirteen years, and he knows his husband. Wu Yifan is a calm, charming, level-headed man. Yixing has _never_ seen Yifan lose his head the way he did just now. Shixun is crying into his chest, and Jongdae is trying to explain to Yixing that everything is still okay, that this might even work in their favor. Yixing fails to understand how being held in contempt can be a good thing, but for the sake of staying strong in front of his son, he tries.

Jongdae tells him that it’s because Yifan was defending his family. The prosecutor had no right to say the things he said about Yixing or Shixun, that his his tangents had nothing to do with the case. They were only meant to crack Yifan’s cool exterior, and by the time Jongdae had interjected, they had succeeded. Yifan is a very calm man. He has never once even raised his voice with Shixun. Yixing has never seen him as upset as he was just now.

“What if they think he’s violent? He’s never done that before,” Yixing vents between very quick breaths. Shixun is clutching at the collar of his dress shirt, trembling and blubbering. Jongdae has his hand on Yixing’s shoulder, his grip strong but not like Yifan’s. He can’t calm Yixing now.

“They won’t. We can spin this, Yixing, just trust me. Please.” Yixing wants to, but Jongdae sounds nervous, frustrated, like he’s standing on his last nerve. Everybody keeps asking Yixing to trust them, and Yixing doesn’t know how much more trust he has to give. He doesn’t know how long he can go on relying on others to make things right. Yixing sets his mouth in a straight line.

“We need to prove that it isn’t him.”

Jongdae rubs his face wearily. “Yes, Yixing, we’re doing everything we can—“

“No, we’re not.” Yixing is close to crying, but he’s also feeling stronger than he’s felt since Yifan was arrested. Shixun looks up at him, hearing it in his voice. Jongdae looks up too, his eyes narrowed curiously. Yixing glares back defiantly.

“Yixing, I’m going to stay behind and speak with the judge. I want you to go home, take care of Shixun, and get some rest. Okay? Be careful tonight.” He shifts his weight like he’s going to walk off, but he doesn’t. His eyes are still fixed on Yixing. “You have my number if you need it. Don’t—don’t do anything…” Jongdae trails off, rubbing his tired eyes once more. “Do you want me to be there with you when you pick Yifan up?”

Yixing considers the offer, then shakes his head. “I can do it,” he says. Jongdae just nods, clapping him on the shoulder and putting on his wide, cat-like smile for Shixun. Shixun’s lip trembles but he isn’t crying at the moment, so Yixing considers it a victory. Yes, everything is looking up from here. He takes Shixun home and makes him dinner without showing his fear or his sadness, smiling so that Shixun will smile, too. Shixun doesn’t, and he cries right before bed for daddy, but Yixing shushes him and rocks him back and forth.

“I’m going to get daddy back, baby boy. Don’t you worry about that. I’m going to protect daddy like how he always protects us, okay?”

Shixun whimpers, but nods. Any other night, Yixing would stay with him. Shixun’s bed is small, but it’s just big enough for little Yixing to slip in around him, cuddling Shixun close to his chest. Tonight, though, Yixing tucks him in and closes his bedroom door on the way out. He waits for a long while, until he is certain that Shixun is asleep, before pulling on dark clothes and taking only their house key off of its key ring. He slips it into the potted flowers bookending their front door, and then he hesitates. Shixun has never slept alone in a house in his entire life—what should he do if he wakes up with a nightmare and finds himself without both of his parents?

But this is bigger than their son. This is for their entire lives. Yixing would rather Shixun wake up alone one night than to only wake up with Yixing for the rest of his life. He pulls his hood up and locks the front door behind him, setting out on the short walk to downtown. It isn’t quite past eleven when he makes it, taking none of Yifan’s usual roads. He keeps his hood low over his head and his eyes up, considering each person he passes on the street.

Yifan’s hands are so big. He’s careful to leave bruises that are much smaller than he could, but Yixing knows that even then, his hands are too small to emulate his husband’s. So he watches throats, quickly dismissing those that are too big for him to completely get a grip around. He needs someone who will be small enough for him to hold down, to mark up, just the way he knows Yifan does.

Yifan once told him how he does it. The night that Yixing found out, Yifan had thrown his modus operandi in Yixing’s face like a grenade, waiting for it to go off. Of course, Yixing had cried. He had cried so hard. To fall so in love with something so evil, so hell-bound. He had been scared, and then Yifan had comforted him, and through it all, he had never once thought that he would need to use what Yifan taught him that night.

First, _only pick someone you know you can handle_. Yifan is a tall, strong man. He can handle almost anybody. Yixing is strong but slight, not short but slim, with very small hands. His eyes find a middle-aged woman with a sweet smile and an expensive suit, and he follows her from a block behind. He thinks that if he got her in his hands, he could handle her very easily.

_There is always someone watching, so keep your business in the dark_. It’s a stroke of luck, heaven and his ancestors smiling down on Yixing, assuring him that his plan is divine, when the lights in her parking garage are out. Or maybe not there at all. It’s an old structure, with only a cement staircase instead of an elevator. The woman moves slowly, seemingly withheld by her aging joints. Yixing catches up to her easily.

_If they can’t breathe, they can’t scream_. Yifan never, ever hits them, and Yixing has to resist the urge to slam her head back against the wall when he gets his hands around her throat just to make things easier. He squeezes in the way that feels the most right, his thumbs pushing down against the hard midline of her throat while his fingers curl tight and cruel around the rest of her, where her muscles and arteries spasm beneath his grip. She chokes out a gasp, reaching up to claw at his gloves, but Yixing picked well. She finds no purchase or relief.

_It takes a long time to die_. Yixing’s stomach is weak by the time he releases her, letting her fall to the ground with a heavy _thud_. His arms are tired, so tired, he had to work so hard and so consciously to make sure that his job is done. He checks her pulse, first at her purpling neck, and then at both of her wrists, but he feels nothing through his gloves. He lowers his ear close to her chest, but hears nary a breath or a beat. _Okay_. He stands, towering above her, and steps back.

_The transport is the hardest part_. Yixing would have assumed as such. It’s well past midnight now on a weeknight, and there are still stragglers here and there. Yixing hikes the woman up onto his back, draping her limp arms over his shoulders. If he’s lucky, she’ll look tired or drunk, her hair obscuring her face as it is. People in the city are good for minding their own paths. The hardest part about the transport is the dead weight on his back. His stomach turns to think about it, what he’s done for his family. He thinks about how Yifan does this for pleasure, and he wonders _how_.

Yixing, who is not normally a friend to the downtown streets, finds the courthouse out of blind ambition, forcing himself to remember its face and its cross streets and how to find them. There is nobody out in front at this hour, even the homeless taking their time in populating the vast uprise of steps to the front. Yixing goes halfway up and drops the woman, splaying her on her back. He thinks about leaving a note, but he has nothing to write it with, and surely this is a loud enough message. He stumbles away, exhausted and nauseous. He doesn’t sleep when he gets home. He finally cries, sobbing out his anguish. He muffles it all with his pillow so as not to wake Shixun, who slept the whole while he was gone.

 

In the morning, Yixing wakes early with crusted, swollen eyes. He’s curled up close to Yifan’s pillow in his sleep, holding it tightly to him as he blearily looks around, wondering why he’s awake. A pounding rings out through the house, the front door, and Yixing jumps. He scrambles out of bed, barely into his robe as he descends the stairs. When he peers through the peephole, he’s relieved to only find Jongdae. He relaxes, hardly having realized that he was so tense, and lets Jongdae in.

Jongdae enters in a storm. He shoves the door back as soon as it gives, almost knocking right into Yixing as he barrels through, his face darker than Yixing has ever seen it. He closes and locks the door behind Jongdae, following him meekly, nothing of his night persona left in him. Jongdae takes him all the way to the office, and Yixing only falters to make sure that Shixun is still asleep before following.

“That was stupid,” Jongdae says, rounding on Yixing as soon as the office door is closed. “That was the most insane, absolutely reckless, _stupid_ thing you could have done. What was going through your head, that you thought this was a good idea? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

Yixing flinches away, staring at the ground as Jongdae gets progressively louder. “Please, Shixun is still sleeping—“

“ _Oh, is he?_ ” Jongdae shouts, furious. Yixing gasps, his eyes flooding, and Jongdae finally falls silent. Yixing bites his lip and tries to contain himself, but he can’t. The damage from last night left cracks that let him spill out, sinking to the floor and holding his head desperately as he whimpers and sniffles. Jongdae finally moves to crouch in front of him. “Yixing, why did you do it?”

Yixing sobs, shaking his head. “I had to prove it’s not him!” he cries out while he is still able. Jongdae doesn’t say anything, probably watching on as Yixing dissolves. Yixing breathes deeply, trying to pull himself back together, and when he looks up, Jongdae is watching him pensively. Yixing steadies himself forcefully, his hands curled into fists as he breathes with his head and his stomach, and when he can, he apologizes, because there’s nothing else he can say. What’s done is done.

“You really don’t understand how lucky you are, Yixing,” Jongdae tells him, finally plopping down from a squat to sitting on the carpet in front of Yixing. “You were just going to go out and clear your husbands name, and—? How? You thought that this would do it? That people would just _assume_ that because a body shows up while Yifan is detained, he has nothing to do with it? What if he has an accomplice, Yixing? What if he has an imitator? What if that body has absolutely nothing to do with Wu Yifan and his murder case?”

Yixing’s stomach clenches with each question, and he comes closer and closer to throwing up the further and further Jongdae goes. He holds his hands up, silently begging Jongdae to stop, trembling when he does. He holds a hand over his mouth for a moment, just breathing. Surely last night was not in vain. Yixing is a gentle person, he’s a loving person, he would never kill if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. He looks to Jongdae entreatingly, and Jongdae smiles a feline smile.

“I have a friend.” Yixing sniffles, dries his face with the backs of his hands, and sits up. “He has a very influential voice in the newspapers. I called him before coming over here, and I wanted you to know that you are _very_ lucky, because I know you didn’t know I have this friend. Minseok is going to make sure that people know they got the wrong man for this case.”

Yixing feels breathless as he listens, his eyes wide as Jongdae puts the ground back beneath his feet. He shuffles forward, placing a hand tentatively on Jongdae’s shoulder, and Jongdae lets him latch on, thanking him desperately. By the time Jongdae leaves and Yixing is preparing something for Shixun when he wakes up, he almost feels human again, like maybe everything could be okay again.

 

Minseok has a _very_ influential voice in the papers. And he has strings he can pull on the radio and television, so that suddenly, everywhere Yixing goes, someone is asking for his husband to go free. The family of the deceased woman shows no animosity towards Yifan, who slept in a cell that night wishing he was home with his family. Instead, they turn on the police, the way Minseok suggested they should. Because if the police had found the right man in the first place, this would never have happened.

Yixing leaves Shixun with Zitao’s parents, who offer their hesitant loyalty towards Yifan. They swear they knew it could never have been him. Yixing smiles, though it exhausts him to do so, and he thanks them for their unwavering support. He leaves from their house to pick up Yifan, not daring to look into his husband’s eyes as he does. In fact, it isn’t until they’re in the car that Yifan takes him by the face and makes him look up that he gets a good look at his husband. Yixing worries that he’ll see anger, or disgust, or disapproval in Yifan’s face, the way he feels it for himself. Instead, Yifan just looks sad.

“What did you do?” he asks softly, his thumb stroking Yixing’s jaw in a gentle way.

Yixing’s lip trembles, but he refuses to cry any longer. Or at least, not now. Not here, in front of his husband. “Sometimes,” he says, his voice weak, “I have to protect you, too.”

“Oh, Yixing,” Yifan croons, pulling him close across the gearshift. Yixing tucks himself into his husband’s embrace, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. For all the hurt he’s done to himself, he feels safe here. Yifan still shields him from the worst of himself, from the worst of the world. Yifan swore that he would always protect him, and through it all, Yixing finds that he still believes him. It’s a startling revelation. He is relieved.

“You should have waited for me,” Yifan says as they sit there together, held close like young lovers. “They weren’t going to convict me, Yixing, you should have waited.” He sounds so sad, so small, and Yixing feels remorse the way he’s been feeling it since he dropped that body to the ground and knew that he had done it.

“Yes, they were,” Yixing argues, justifying what he did. Yifan pulls away, only enough to look down into Yixing’s eyes.

“You don’t trust me anymore.”

Yixing looks up at him, brow furrowed and cheeks bunched up sadly. He wants to shake his head, wants to scream, wants to tell Yifan that of course he does, of course he trusts him, he always has; but ever since Yifan got arrested, Yixing realizes that there are things even his husband cannot control. He lowers his eyes, and Yifan sighs, pulling him close once more. Yixing calls the Huangs, asking if they would keep Shixun for just a few hours more. They gladly accept, any sort of penance that will preserve their friendship. Yixing takes Yifan home, and Yifan takes him to bed. They move together only by muscle memory, their passion muted. It’s just ritual now, how Yifan swears that he will protect Yixing. Yixing believes him again, as per their routine.

 

The prosecution is slow to drop the charges. Yixing thinks they might continue on with the trial, though Jongdae assures him that the jury has been adequately swayed. It isn’t until several days later that Jongdae comes over with a wide smile and a bottle of wine, delivering the good news. They’ll get it officially later, but Jongdae came straight from the judge’s office to tell them because he is not only their lawyer, but their friend. Yixing swears that he will never be able to thank Jongdae for what he’s done for them. Jongdae just waves him off, reminding him that Yifan earned this years ago. Yifan smiles quietly and raises his glass.

Yixing serves them dinner, and Shixun stays up with the adults for as long as he can manage before he is too tired and has to be put to bed. Yixing leaves Yifan and Jongdae while he bathes Shixun, helps him brush his teeth, and tucks him into bed. Yifan comes in while Yixing is kissing his forehead and reminding him of how much his parents both love him, and he offers to tell a bedtime story. Yixing’s heart beats hard in his chest, and he is so in love with Yifan that he’s surprised he ever doubted that they would be okay in the end.

In bed that night, they lay quietly together, wrapped in each other’s arms, still and silent in the dark, but neither of them sleeping. Yifan’s thumb smooths back and forth over the skin of Yixing’s arm where he’s holding him close, and Yixing traces his fingers across Yifan’s chest in smooth patterns. Every once in awhile, Yifan squeezes Yixing that much closer so that he can press a kiss to his head, and Yixing will turn his face to kiss Yifan’s chest. Yixing wonders if they will ever find sleep tonight.

“You need to stop going out for awhile,” he says into the still of the night. Yifan shifts beneath him, and Yixing can feel his husband looking down at him. “You lost control,” he continues, “and then all of this—I know you don’t think so, but I was so close to losing you. I know I was.” Yifan doesn’t say anything. Yixing looks up at him, and he’s staring down at Yixing. “Right now, just being careful isn’t good enough. I need you to stop for a little while.”

Yixing has no idea what Yifan will say; he’s never done this, not once in their marriage. Yifan was the final say on in their lives. Yixing was just along for the ride. Now, Yixing needs the control. He needs to know that Yifan won’t get carried away, won’t get reckless. They can’t do something like this again. He waits, tense beneath Yifan’s scrutiny, and he’s almost startled when Yifan says, “Okay.”

Yixing opens his mouth to question him, as though perhaps Yifan doesn’t understand what he’s agreeing to, but Yifan leans down to kiss him and Yixing is effectively silenced. “I love you so much, Yixing. You and Shixun are everything to me. If you want me to stop…I’ll stop.” Yixing’s mouth hangs open in awe. He stares openly. Yifan lowers his eyes and wraps his other arm around Yixing. “Thank you for staying with me through this. I know it was hard for you.”

Yixing’s eyes water, and he smiles. “I will never leave you,” he promises. Yifan folds him into his chest and finally breathes like a free man. Yixing closes his eyes, and finds that he has said what he needed to say. Sleep comes easily then. His family is safe once more.

 

If Yifan breaks his vow, he does it so discreetly that not even Yixing can catch him. Lu Han brings him back to work, and he spends his energy there. Shixun’s appreciation for his father swells, and he devours Yifan’s attention at any given opportunity; Yifan spends his energy there, too. Yixing takes him back in bed, and he can feel how Yifan has wound himself tight, only showing the faults in his restraint when he is the most distracted, the most excited. Yixing has always bruised easily, but Yifan has always been careful not to bruise him. Yixing wakes up with Yifan’s handprints on him—on his wrists, on his hips, on his throat—and he takes solace in that those bruises are on him and nobody else.

But try as he might, Yixing finds no other suggestion that Yifan is struggling to keep his pledge. He still smiles freely, still holds Yixing gently, still throws their son up into the air so that Shixun shrieks and giggles. For weeks, Yixing feels strange having Yifan home every night. Like one night, Yifan will text him as he’s preparing dinner and tell him that he’ll be home late. That night never comes, Yifan always there just in time to set the table with Shixun. It’s a wonderful feeling, like they truly are the family they present themselves as.

Yixing waits for Yifan to come to him, asking him permission. Or perhaps forgiveness. He waits for Yifan to mention it at all, but he doesn’t. When they lay awake in bed at night, waiting for sleep to take them, they talk about everything except that. Yixing waits for Yifan to bring it up, and Yifan never does. Shixun is in elementary school before Yixing relents, having never once forgotten that he may very well be the one caging Yifan in.

“It’s been a long time since you went out,” Yixing tells him one night. Yifan tenses beneath him, probably in surprise. Yixing rises up to sit on his husband’s hips, smiling down at him and stroking his hair. “You’ve been so good to us.”

Yifan smiles from below, tinged with sadness, and he pulls Yixing close to kiss him and tell him, “You asked me to stop,” in a way that suggests he would do whatever Yixing told him. Yixing’s breath catches in his throat, and he kisses Yifan again, deeply this time. Yifan wraps his arms around Yixing, grinding up against him.

“You’ve done so well,” Yixing tells him when they come up. “I think it’s safe, if you want to go out again.”

Yifan blinks, his mouth round in surprise, and when it processes that Yixing has put the decision back into his hands, he smiles that smile he used to seduce Yixing into his arms when they first met. “Yixing, I love you so much,” he says, his voice wavering with emotion. “I’ll be careful,” he promises, hugging Yixing close to him. Yixing lets him, falling asleep on top of Yifan’s chest.

In the morning, Yifan implies that he will be home late. Shixun whines about it, but Yixing silences him with a hand on his shoulder. “Your father works hard and comes home to see you every night. Even daddies deserve one night off every once in awhile.” Shixun just rolls his eyes, but when Yifan tells him to, he obediently shrugs his backpack on and shuffles out the front door to catch his school bus. Yifan kisses Yixing good-bye before following him out. Yixing watches them go, Yifan standing with Shixun at the sidewalk, and his chest swells with love and pride for his family.

Maybe Yifan can’t always protect them, but Yixing knows that as a family, they fill in the gaps left by one another. As Shixun disappears into the school bus, Yifan glances back and waves at him. Yixing waves back, smiling, and he disappears into the house. Yifan will be home late, but he will be all the more insatiable when he gets in. Yixing plans to be ready for him when he does.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill from the kissfanxing fic fest on livejournal. Thank you to L for prompting, this was probably the most fun I've had writing a fic in a long while.


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